Finding Beauty in Grief

By: Robyn Busekrus The season of Fall has quickly transformed the trees.  The hues of red, orange and yellow are bountiful in color.  Seasons of change are difficult for those of us who have experienced pregnancy loss.  There is beauty in the seasons changing, yet an ache as we wish our children were here. This…

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Milestones

By: Rebecca Stockwell A close friend had a baby a few weeks before my son was born. We live a few hours from each other, so I wasn’t around for most of her milestones. When she was seven months old, we were invited to her baptism and to spend the night at her house. We don’t…

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Seasons of Love

By: Nikki Grayson The deep green and blue ocean waters rise and fall before me. The deep blue horizon looks to be a million miles away. Sand wedges between my toes and the warmth of the air envelopes me. As I search for hidden sand dollars, my eyes are set on the tan sandy beach,…

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Listening To the Voices of Bereaved Fathers

By: Ann-Marie Ferry Fathers often get the short end of the stick when it comes to grief support. It should not be. However, for a variety of reasons it often remains the case. When I was asked to write an article for newly bereaved fathers, I was apprehensive. I am a bereaved mother. How do…

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Dad’s Arms Are Empty Too

By: Nikki Grayson Swollen eyes, pink tinged cheeks, and a steady stream of tears. Dark circles under the eyes, a solemn face, and forced words of strength. The definition of a newly bereaved mom and a newly bereaved dad. Yet we both are experiencing the same hurt and shared grief, the expectations are so different…

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Back to Normal

By: Ann-Marie Ferry When normal seems on its way And tears have now ceased When all the thoughts in my head  Have settled in a calm place  The flood gates open  Destroying my glimpse of peace When my mosaic heart is crumbling  And I can’t take a breath  When tears start in my throat  Burning…

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The Bittersweet Song of a Wren

By: Shirley Brosius The trill of a jenny wren still sends a pang of sadness through me. Many years ago, 45 to be exact, my youngest child, my only daughter, died a few hours after her birth. It was a chilly spring, and as I hung out laundry, a jenny wren sang from a tree.…

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